


One-Night Stand

by Syaunei



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Getting Together, Jealousy, Julian is more perceptive than people give him credit for, Julian's Spy Fetish, M/M, Marking, One Night Stands, Scent Marking, Wall Sex, after having a screaming match first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syaunei/pseuds/Syaunei
Summary: Away on a surprisingly boring conference, Julian decides to liven up his stay by heading to a bar where he unexpectedly gets an offer of enjoyable company.Back on the station, Garak seems to be acting strangely, making Julian wonder what's gotten into his plain and simple friend...
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Original Male Character(s), the titular one night stand
Comments: 144
Kudos: 277





	1. Ledok

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that I usually write silly smut, and I wanted to write something in a different tone - more sober if you will. I hope the difference isn't too jarring?

It all began with...

Actually, Julian couldn't remember exactly how it began. The moment the grating sound of the alarm clock burst across his senses like a prematurely detonated torpedo, his vocal command to the thing to shut the hell off came out as a completely unintelligible amalgamation of groans and hisses. It took him several seconds to crack his eyes open and process why the alarm was more offensive than usual as the unfamiliar room swam into focus. Scuffed blank walls coalesced around him, too stark to be his bedroom back on DS9.

Blinking slowly to dispel the rheumy film in the corner of his eyes, he managed to rasp out – “Alarm off!”

The incessant beeping dissolved into blissful quiet. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and took stock of his surroundings.

A bland and very uninspired bedroom of the Conference Centre slowly began to take shape. Julian was sent to attend in the hopes of learning about new treatments for rare diseases. Aside from the occasional spark of insight, there wasn’t much he wasn’t already aware of. All he could think about for the past four days was how much work he’d missed by wasting his time listening to old crotchety Bolians who got lost within their own argument so often that it actually managed to put him right to sleep. Considering that most other attendees fared just as poorly, he didn’t waste time feeling bad about it.

Instead of spirited debate with the people in his field, he decided to sequester himself in the first seedy bar he could find outside of the Centre itself. The feel of the place was similar to Quark’s, even if the only Ferengis present were busy hashing out a deal with a Klingon woman in a corner booth.

This mish mash of many alien species was familiar, even if the usual faces were absent. The place was packed and played some deep bass music that was not intended for human ears. Julian could feel its thrum in his body, even if a melody was not audible to him.

One look at the place told him Quark would almost certainly find some illicit goods to purchase here. To be honest, Julian didn’t want to know. It was probably safer that way.

Most tables and booths were occupied, so he headed for the bar, to the only gap in the mass of alien bodies.

There was no menu to be found, so he ordered the distillate of a local root they had been offered at the conference, and was unsurprised to find it tasted much harsher in this iteration.

“They mix it with cheap synthehol, you would have been better off ordering something pre-bottled.”

Julian had turned to his left, noticing for the first time the Cardassian man sitting there.

“I know better for next time,” Julian grinned. “Thanks for the tip.”

The man seemed to be in his early forties, with high cheekbones framed by sharp ridges, and a pair of piercing dark eyes staring at Julian in assessment. He had a crisp jawline and full lips which were currently pursed in what Julian assumed was amusement. The most intriguing feature on him was his long hair, combed meticulously behind his ears in a way Cardassian males seemed to prefer, yet the top layer was braided to not get in the way or fall over his face. The clothing he wore was utilitarian, in a drab olive color, simple and unadorned save for the light brown stripe running over his shoulders and down his arms which looked to be of a coarser texture.

“Is it that obvious that I don’t belong here?” Julian said wryly, making the Cardassian chuckle.

“You lack the jagged edges.” The man observed.

Julian nodded in a perfunctory manner and drank his root schnapps.

“What is it you do?” The man asked, peering at him over the rim of a shot glass filled with something violently orange in color.

“Doctor.” Julian said simply, grateful that he wasn’t in uniform at the moment.

The Cardassian hummed in what Julian could only assume was pleasant surprise.

“What about you?” Julian found himself asking, the urge to be polite too deeply ingrained to curb.

“Oh, I’m a simple trader. Odds and ends - you know.”

“A smuggler, then?” Julian said blithely, emboldened by the drink and pervasive tedium of the past several days.

The Cardassian burst out laughing and clapped him firmly on the shoulder.

“Such candor! Do you treat all your friends to that wit?”

Julian smirked quite despite himself. It was so strange to see a Cardassian face that wasn’t as carefully controlled as Garak’s was.

“Only the ones I like.” Julian bantered, taking another sip and observing the reaction this would elicit. It was a habit to study Garak, to not miss a single nuance of his maddeningly crafted micro-expressions, so often exaggerated for his sake. Getting a genuine reaction out of the tailor was oftentimes a futile endeavor.

“My name is Ledok,” The Cardassian offered. “May I know yours? Or shall I call you _doctor_?”

Julian frowned and shook his head. To be called by his title by another Cardassian felt too strange.

“No. It’s Julian.”

“Zhuh’lian.” Ledok attempted to pronounce, making Julian shrug.

“Close enough.”

“So… Zhuh’lian… Where is your enjoined? Are you travelling alone?”

Julian looked at Ledok, trying to parse the information. This drink was quite strong and was beginning to kick in, leaving him feeling tipsy.

“Enjoined? I’m sorry; I don’t know what that means.”

Ledok licked his lips, peering at him with a knowing smile.

“Your spouse. Or mate. Whatever the name for such things is where you come from.”

“I don’t have one,” Julian said, slightly baffled. “You?”

He wasn’t even sure what had compelled him to ask, it wasn’t like he particularly cared about the answer in the first place.

“No one permanent.” Ledok said lightly, “The life of a wondering trader isn’t conducive to raising a family.”

Julian had a sneaking suspicion that settling down was at the very bottom of this man’s priority list.

“You must try something better, my treat.” The man offered, “It would be a tragedy if you left here and had only the taste of low-grade _issa’klar_ to remember it by.”

Julian looked at his mostly empty glass and pondered the offer for a moment. Well, why the fuck not? He was barely buzzed by this. Besides, he had his trusty hangover cure programmed into the runabout’s computers in case he ended up needing it in the morning.

“As long as it’s not kanar.” Julian warned.

“You’ve had it before!” Ledok’s smile was wide and eyes blazed with pure delight.

“I had it. Several different kinds. And all I have now are regrets.”

Ledok started chuckling and called for the barkeep by name.

“Two glasses of _ness’am_ , on my tab.”

“What’s that?” Julian inquired as a glass of something pearlescent slid towards him.

“That, my friend, is the best liquor money can buy here. Admittedly, that’s not saying much – but we make do.”

“I gathered that,” Julian rolled his eyes, “what is it made of?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Ledok gave him a maddening grin.

Smart enough not to drink anything given to him by a stranger, Julian whipped out his tricorder and analyzed the composition. At a glance, there was nothing alarming in it, except the fact it was strong stuff. He decided not to comment the fact there were traces of mollusk in there. As Ledok had said, sometimes it was better not to know.

“That’s a high-end scanner you got there. Would you be willing to trade for it?”

Julian’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not for sale. I need it for my work.”

Ledok raised both of his palms in a conciliatory gesture.

“I meant no offense! I merely had to ask.”

Julian snorted. Typical Cardassian evasiveness. He’d had quite enough of it from Garak.

The rest of the evening was a bit blurry around the edges. Julian remembered they drank at least three of these pearlescent drinks each, and that Ledok only got chattier and chattier, talking about ferrying cargo through Ferengi customs (bribe, hidden compartments with lining that scattered scanning beams, and more bribe). Julian wondered how much of it was embellishment, but couldn’t deny that he was entertained. For his part, he complained about patients who refused to take their medication and returned with easily avoidable complications. Ledok laughed at all the right places and commiserated about impossible customers.

Good two or three hours later, he recalled Ledok mentioning something about enjoyable company. This triggered a connection in his brain to a similar offer, extended to him by a man he had met when he’d barely just arrived on the newly minted Deep Space 9. He’d looked at the Cardassian smuggler, taking in the unfamiliar albeit pleasant configuration of ridges and thought to himself – why not? He’d always been curious about what they looked like beneath all their layers.

After a brief negotiation regarding the location, Julian ended up pulling the man by the hand and dragged him all the way to his quarters.

Now, as he sat up, naked and groggy, he could vaguely reconstruct the rest of the evening.

His clothes lay strewn every which way, and the bed was absolutely wrecked. The sheet beneath him was stiff from dried fluids and the temperature setting was several degrees higher than he’d left it. He could vaguely recall having suggested lube, to which Ledok had laughed and remarked that Julian had obviously never slept with a Cardassian before. The details were a blur, but he had a distinct memory of being on his hands and knees and requesting, quite vocally, to be fucked harder. Cardassians were somewhat differently configured and when buried to the hilt, Ledok’s member just barely grazed his prostate. He could also recall the weird question for permission to come inside him which Julian had granted with an expletive and a demand to stop speaking.

Once Ledok was done, Julian was surprised by the bite to the back of his neck and remembered that it took him about five seconds of manual stimulation to come. Ledok excused himself to use his facilities and by the time he was back, Julian had been half-asleep. He’d murmured a sleepy goodbye as Ledok grasped his shoulder and kissed the back of his neck.

“It was my pleasure, Zhuh’lian… If we ever meet again, I wouldn’t mind some more of your _enjoyable_ company.”

Julian wasn’t sure he’d been awake to hear the doors hissing shut behind Ledok.

Now, his first concern was taking a long-overdue piss. The look at the tiny mirror above the sink corroborated the story of over-indulgence the previous night. Idly, he wondered whether he was allowed to skip the closing speeches. He doubted anyone would even notice he was gone. After splashing some water on his face and raking fingers through his messy hair, he noticed several bruises on his neck. His uniform would cover those well enough.

Julian stumbled back into the room and started setting it back to rights. He stuffed the soiled bedding into the replicator and dematerialized it. After that was done, he picked up his clothes off the floor and dusted them off with perfunctory flicks. He was relieved to find his tricorder still in the pocket of his trousers, untouched.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, he dug into his duffle bag for fresh underwear and was about ready to take a nice, long sonic shower when his badge chirped.

“Dax to Bashir, come in.”

He cleared his throat to get his voice in some semblance of working order and tapped the badge, infinitely grateful it was audio only.

“This is Bashir,” He croaked, and coughed until his voice kicked back into gear, “What is it, Jadzia?”

“Benjamin scheduled a senior staff meeting and told me to inform you to get back early. I am so sorry to drag you away from the scintillating world of academia, but your duties await!”

Julian scoffed. She was about sorry about this as she was when trouncing Quark at tongo.

“Yeah, I’m on my way. Bashir out.”

“Oh, and, by the way? Grab a raktajino, will you? I don’t know who you partied with last night, but I want to hear _all_ about it! Dax out.”

Jadzia was a great friend, but not even she would hear about this particular tryst from him. This was the 24th century and one-night stands were no longer frowned upon, but Julian could hardly convey details he scarcely remembered, could he? Other than a vague – _it felt good_ – he didn’t even know what to say.

Resigned to go filthy a little while longer, he donned his briefs and half crawled into his uniform. He tossed all of his scattered belongings back into his duffle bag and called the computer for transport.


	2. Betrayal?

Julian had every intention of stepping into the sonic shower on one of the highest settings and let it scrub him raw, but the stack of reports Jadzia had sent required all of his attention. By the time he'd gotten through them all, he'd had two raktajinos, and was notified by the bleeping computer that he was due to arrive on DS9 in fifteen minutes. He knew he could strip within a minute and be showered within seven, but he just didn’t feel like bothering. He’d barely slept, and while he didn’t actively hurt anywhere, he was exhausted. He wished to get done with the staff meeting, meet Garak for their usual lunch appointment (unless the meeting ran overtime) and then retire to his rooms for a long nap.

He yawned and ambled to the fresher, splashed some water on his face, raked wet fingers through his hair and sighed. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink and wondered who would be the one to point it out. Sisko was usually too tactful to do much beyond stare at him with fatherly reproach, Worf would grumble and gnash his teeth at what he perceived to be conduct unbecoming of an officer, and Jadzia would just grin at him, eyes twinkling devilishly with a promise to extract all the sordid details from him later.

The subtle shift alerted him to the fact he was about to dock with the station, the computer perfectly able to finish the procedure on its own. He grabbed his padd and hefted his bag over his shoulder, ready to step out into the corridor the second the airlock decompressed. With a subtle hiss, the hatch rumbled open and Julian strode out, covering another yawn with the back of his hand. He nodded to the engineering ensign in charge of double-checking the roundabout’s condition after docking and hurried towards the nearest turbolift. He knew he had just about enough time to swing by his quarters and drop off his bag. Maybe if the turbolift didn’t tarry overlong, he could drop by Garak’s shop and make sure their lunch appointment was still on.

Luck seemed to be on his side, and not many people were about. He walked into his quarters, dropped his bag to the ground and spared a soft glance to Kukalaka who was sitting patiently on his shelf. Checking the time on his padd, he made sure he had enough time to walk by Garak’s shop and still be in time for the meeting.

Nose in the padd, he went over the points that would be addressed during the meeting one by one, making sure he was up to speed and would have pertinent things to add to the discussion. His peripheral vision was enough to let him navigate the busy Promenade, and he weaved through the bustling crowd, managing to avoid colliding with anyone. Once he was in visual range of Garak’s Clothiers, he raised his eyes and stowed his padd temporarily. People got the bad impression if you didn’t look them in the eye, and telling them (truthfully) that he was perfectly capable of reading something and following what they were saying had not gone well in the past, so he tried to abstain from doing it.

He entered the shop and smiled at the sight of Garak offering a tall alien woman several dresses. She picked two out of three and Julian watched as the tailor pointed her towards the changing room with a solicitous flourish of his hand.

He did so enjoy Garak’s flair for the dramatic.

“Doctor!” Garak exclaimed with what Julian fervently hoped was undisguised pleasure, “Does this mean I can look forward to our lunch appointment?”

“Yes, Garak.” Julian grinned, “I get to hear all about how much you detested Ana Karenina.”

“Why bother meeting at all, if you already know how I feel about it?” Garak pursed his lips in amusement.

“Just like your enigma tales, sometimes it’s about the journey, and not the ending.”

Garak’s eyes shone with the kind of light that stirred Julian’s blood. He wanted to know the inns and outs of the man’s fascinating, serpentine mind – its labyrinthine twists much too appealing to Julian’s curious nature.

“Indeed.” Garak said pleasantly and swept by him to hang the dress back on one of the racks. Julian’s hand tingled where Garak’s clothed thigh brushed by him and he thought he’d heard a hitched breath coming from the Cardassian.

An unguarded expression from the spy was such a rarity that Julian couldn’t help himself, turning swiftly to try and catch it, only to be met with the sight of a wide, rigid back and a white-knuckled grip on the hanger as it was shoved onto the rack with definitely more force than was necessary.

He was wondering what was wrong when a melodious voice drifted in from the outside-

“Julian! You made it!”

He looked at Jadzia and knew this was his cue to leave.

“Come on, you know how Benjamin gets when he needs to wait for someone!”

Oh, Julian could picture it perfectly.

“He starts molesting his baseball and when it starts squeaking-“

Jadzia finished for him – “You know you’re in trouble!”

They shared a laugh and he headed for the exit, turning for a moment to say goodbye to Garak only to catch an expression best described as frozen stiff, grey Cardassian nostrils flaring.

Words died in his mouth at the vicious expression flashing across Garak’s gaze. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before Garak turned his back on him, but that was enough for Julian to glimpse the tail end of a ferocious and raw emotion in that piercing blue stare.

It looked suspiciously like revulsion or maybe even betrayal.

Julian had no time to process or address it, as Jadzia linked arms with him and dragged him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's gonna hit the fan!


	3. Dismissal

Julian was only half-listening to the meeting going on around him. Sisko's dark eyes were trained on Worf who was currently expounding on matters of security, with Miles chiming in with practical advice and current state of the station's infrastructure. Jadzia had the station layout laid out before her on the padd, zooming in on it and nibbling on her lower lip as she considered something.

Despite knowing that this meeting was vital and his participation needed, if only in the form of attentive audience, Julian found his thoughts straying to that parting scene in Garak's shop. Julian was fairly aware of his painfully obvious lack of social graces at times. As time went on, his missteps were becoming infrequent, only requiring him to apologize profusely once or twice a year, over some easily preventable mistake due to lack of attention or tact. For the most part, he was now able to curb his tendency to run at the mouth and say the first stupid thing that came to mind. Analyzing his mistakes over the years had instilled in him a sense for ascertaining the gravity of his faux pas, and the way Garak had acted with him left Julian with the impression that he'd done something wrong, except he could find no error in his comportment. He hadn't said anything offensive or wildly out of the ordinary. They'd bantered – as they often did, jibing one another; well within the comfortably established parametres of their friendly relationship. Everything was perfectly fine until they came into brief physical contact, after which Garak had clammed up.

The revulsion in that blue gaze was not something Julian had been prepared for. He'd thought himself inured to Garak's occasional mercurial moods, especially after having nursed him through the agony of withdrawal. He'd been on the receiving end of Garak's violent tongue-lashings often enough to not let it get to him, especially because in their aftermath he could see the stilted movements of Garak's hands clenching in an unconscious gesture of self-loathing and blue eyes closing firmly with self-reproach.

The apologies he got afterwards were stiff, but Julian always knew them to be sincere, even the non-verbal ones.

Like Garak's gaze lingering on his collar too long, followed by a sigh and an almost familiar inability to look Julian in the eye.

Guilt was a strange thing to witness on Garak's usually glib face. Doubly so because Julian never saw Garak appear even half as remorseful over anything that lurked in his murky past, yet the thought of being unjustly cruel to Julian was enough for his plain and simple tailor friend to look regretful.

 _“It’s not like you two are really friends…”_ Jadzia had once said and Julian still remembered being startled by the assertion.

He knew he’d blurted something between a rationalization and agreement, but the statement had shaken him profoundly, because despite knowing Garak was not to be trusted, Julian had, in fact, considered him a friend – one of his closest, at that.

To be told, so bluntly, that his own perceptions and feelings were worthless was jarring in the extreme.

It was then, after the wire, that he’d realized that he’d allowed Garak under his skin, that he’d relegated him to a category of _mostly harmless_ , simply because he’d never seen the man do anything overly questionable in his presence. By giving the Cardassian the benefit of the doubt, and allowing himself to be lulled into a sense of complacency by being offered companionship and friendly debate, Julian lost sight of who he was consorting with.

An enemy spy.

Exiled or not, the mild-mannered tailor prone to the occasional sharp remark and not so occasional vicious political commentary was not, in any way, as plain and simple as he was pretending.

Julian had always known the smiling facade to be a mask and couldn’t forgive himself the fact that he’d managed to lose sight of that so completely that he’d allowed himself to be enthralled time after time, sucked into a vortex of words and glimmering blue stares. Garak was good at what he did, and Julian had accepted the tectonic shift in his perception of the man with more grace than he knew himself capable of. He bantered and jibed and analyzed every word, every look, every move. Never again did he lose sight of who he was dealing with.

Years later, and he was uncertain whether he would ever understand his lunchtime companion but, by God, was the challenge welcome!

“Doctor,” Sisko addressed him directly and Julian raised his gaze unflinchingly, “I have looked over the additions you have suggested and sent the requisitions list along. I’m afraid the rest is out of my hands.”

“I know, sir. If they are denied, we’ll make do.” His eyes slid over Jadzia and Miles, and settled on Sisko’s even stare. “As usual.”

Sisko let out a humorless chuckle and asked for a summary of the conference, which Julian provided in a concise manner. It was clear to all involved from Julian’s even tone that it had been a colossal waste of time. His commanding officer graced him with an acknowledging nod and the topic shifted to Jadzia’s overview of the possible modifications to their shield array, several of them quite experimental in nature and Julian maintained the illusion of following the conversation by browsing the calculations Jadzia had included in the brief. They seemed sound, even if this wasn’t his area of expertise. Running through a parallel set of calculations, he nearly missed the icon for an incoming message flashing briefly in the upper right corner of his padd.

With a flick of his finger, the message flashed across his screen:

_I will not be available for our usual appointment. Apologies for the inconvenience, Doctor._

Julian blinked slowly at the words, failing to parse them properly.

No flowery, exaggerated reason provided as to why their iron-clad lunch appointment was suddenly being cancelled.

No wild tale of an overbearing customer or a misplaced shipment.

More disturbingly, no offer to reschedule.

He tapped a reply before he could think twice about it.

_Is it something I said? I will drop by your shop after I’m done at Ops._

Five minutes passed without a response and Julian let the minutia of technical detail wash over him, trying to focus on actual words and failing – eyes darting to the padd every few seconds, only to be met with silence.

The upset was old and familiar – his attempts at communication meeting a stone wall. He thought he’d gotten used to his father’s tactics, even as they echoed through the years and through other people. Julian realized he’d gotten used to the sugar-coated lies that Garak so considerately served him. Their absence was abrupt, discomfiting, and to Julian’s dismay – frightening.

_Garak, won’t you tell me what I’ve done? I don’t want to play guessing games, for once._

To his mortification, he actually flinched when the answer arrived swiftly.

_Let’s waste no more words, Doctor. You’ve made yourself quite clear._

This read like a dismissal and Julian stared at the words with a sensation of having been dunked into an ice-bath.

 _Garak, I have no idea what’s gotten into you but we_ **will** _talk about this. See you after the meeting._

A grim feeling of satisfaction suffused him - as if he would allow himself to be dismissed!

He sighed, tired; mourning the lunch he’d been looking forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is written and will be up in a few days!


	4. Confrontation

The second Sisko called the meeting; Julian was out the door, grateful that Jadzia had been distracted by Worf. He hurried to the Promenade, ignoring everything in his path but the final destination. When he rounded the bend, he halted in front of Garak’s shop, noting that it was closed. There was no note about lunch hour that Garak usually left tacked on, and the entire establishment was dark.

Unnerved, he tapped his badge.

“Computer, are there any life signs in Garak’s Clothiers?”

“ _Negative_.”

“Damn it.” Julian muttered under his breath.

Where could Garak be?

He headed for the Replimat, hoping Garak may have thawed in the meantime, even if there was no indication of that. A cursory glance revealed that it wasn’t packed, the first wave of customers mostly done with their meals, with only a few stragglers remaining behind to talk over cups of tea. As he’d suspected, there was no trace of the tailor.

Irritated, he tapped his badge again.

“Computer, locate -” He sighed, his hand falling away. “Disregard that, Computer.”

He wasn’t allowed to use his rank to access civilian information and he knew it. Not even for Garak.

The man could be anywhere. The station was huge, and he knew very well that if Garak didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. After all, there were still some sealed-off parts of the station – like the old ore processing center.

One last place to check – Garak’s quarters.

It wasn’t something Julian felt wholly comfortable with, but short of unlawfully accessing the station’s surveillance feeds, there was little else he could do. The fact this was a personal matter meant that his hands were rather tied.

In the turbolift descending into the habitat pylon, Julian wondered whether he was simply exaggerating. Had he allowed his over-active imagination to blow the situation out of proportion? Just because Garak was acting dismissive, didn’t mean there was anything horrible afoot. The thought of succumbing to paranoia made him snicker. Garak would be rather proud, wouldn’t he?

He stood in front of Garak’s quarters, breath lodged in his throat. For all their closeness, real or imagined, he’d never had much cause to visit Garak in his quarters. The unfortunate episode with the wire aside, he hadn’t been in Garak’s rooms since. It had felt sacrilegious almost. He’d left the man to lick his wounds in private and wondered, not for the first time, whether that had been the right call.

Drawing a deep breath to fortify himself, he pressed the chime and waited.

And waited.

And kept on waiting.

There was no answer.

Trying to calm his frenetic pulse, he pressed the chime more insistently.

He knew he wasn’t allowed to ask the computer about lifesigns inside private quarters, unless it was a medical emergency, and even though there was certainly precedent for such things in Garak’s case, Julian couldn’t in good conscience justify it.

“Garak, if you’re in there, open the door.”

There was no response.

He pressed his index into the chime firmly and let it ring, hoping that if Garak was in, he’d be annoyed by the incessant racket.

“Garak, for God’s sake, stop being stubborn!”

After he’d had his finger on the chime for over a minute, he removed his hand.

“Fine! Don’t talk to me! Stew in whatever perceived slight you think I inflicted on you!” Julian spat out and made an aggravated sound.

As he marched towards the turbolift, he noticed his left hand was cramping from clutching the padd too tightly. He realized he was angry - his pulse was elevated, his jaw locked and his shoulders tense. He cursed Garak for being an overbearing drama queen and felt frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t just dismiss it.

If Garak was stewing in some kind of misconception, Julian was currently simmering with profound irritation - aware of his frown and stiff posture as he marched across the station on the way back to his quarters. All he wanted was to peel his uniform away, stand in the sonic shower until his skin was red and hopefully banish one Elim Garak from his head.

He was grateful he hadn’t run across anyone familiar because he was fairly certain he looked about ready to murder someone.

It was blessed relief when the doors of his quarters closed behind him, darkness greeting him. Not bothering to call for lights, he removed his jacket and threw it on the couch. With a profound sigh, he toed his shoes off and unfastened his undershirt. A soft clink alerted him to the fact that he wasn’t alone and in a split second he had his phaser trained in the direction of the disturbance.

“Lights, 20 percent!” He shouted at the computer, and the room brightened enough to render everything visible to his augmented eyes.

On his couch sat Garak, holding a small glass like this was some kind of social call – half-empty bottle of orange kanar perched on the coffee table. Julian was sorely tempted to shoot regardless, but lowered his phaser, attempting to calm himself enough to speak.

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” He said indignantly, “You could have messaged me instead of leading me on a wild goose chase.”

“Well, you found me.” Garak smirked, raising his glass in clear mockery of a toast.

Julian’s fingers itched.

“Sure, make yourself at home!” He spat sarcastically.

Garak was trying for nonchalant, but the gaze above the rim of his glass was way too cutting for that.

“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.” Julian grumbled and placed his phaser on the shelf.

“Decent reflexes,” Garak admitted, “The threat would be more effective if I didn’t know you keep your weapon on stun.”

Julian whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at Garak.

“Don’t tempt me!”

Garak’s nostrils flared with irritation as he put his drink down, voice low and barely civil.

“I assure you, I cherish the scar you gave me the last time you shot me.”

Julian’s face contorted at the memory.

“That’s not fair…” he muttered, “I offered to remove it but you insisted-“

“I am sentimental. Much to my father’s dismay.”

Julian felt out of his depth. Once more he got the distinct impression that they were leading a double conversation, except the deeper layers of meaning were eluding him. Again.

“After all,” Garak continued, looking up at him much too sharply, “Some marks are worth keeping.”

Julian halted, not knowing what to make of that statement.

“Is this the part where you tell me why you’re angry with me?”

Garak said nothing, but Julian observed grey lips curling into an ugly sneer.

“I have cultivated subtlety in you and you have employed it, such as it is. I suppose this is cosmic revenge – karmic retribution?”

Julian cursed and got the urge to throw something at Garak.

“If you could divorce yourself from your obsession with contrariness, Garak, I am still waiting to hear what I did wrong! Or is it just psychological torture that you enjoy employing on me? Is that it? Is this some twisted version of revenge for some imagined transgression?”

Garak burst into a fit of incredulous laughter.

“Imagined!”

“So there is a transgression!” Julian exclaimed, “Why don’t you, for once in your maddening existence, tell me what’s wrong!”

Garak looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was too much genuine hurt beneath his mask of forcefulness.

"I know you're upset, Garak! I've spent years across the table from you, studying you. I know how you look at your worst, and I don't understand why you deny the truth even when I state it plainly!"

"The truth?" Garak laughed in a decidedly grotesque manner, "You wouldn't know the truth even if it slit your throat while looking you in the eye, Doctor!"

"I'm tired, Garak." Julian said irritably, "If you have a point, I suggest you get to it."

Garak snarled from the couch, getting to his feet with frightening speed and reducing the distance between them in a second. Julian had forgotten how fast the man could move when he wasn’t trying to play at being a harmless tailor. Julian was all but flung into the wall, the palm of Garak’s right hand burning a brand into his chest. Breath beaten out of him, he almost missed the venomous words:

“You reek!”

Too surprised by Garak’s reaction, he was left momentarily stunned.

“I could smell it from across the room, his… _mark_ on you.”

“What?” Julian blinked in confusion.

What mark?

“Need I be more specific?” Garak hissed.

“That would help, yes.” Julian said blithely, feeling quite done with Garak’s bullshit at the moment.

Through a grimace, Garak breathed in, even if the action seemed to make him visibly nauseated and spoke in a tone full of contempt.

“A Cardassian male in his late thirties or early forties, reasonably healthy, within the last-“ With that he inhaled again, “Fifteen hours?”

Julian paled.

“Does that sound familiar?” Garak all but growled and removed his hand, as if burnt.

Julian got his bearings and looked at Garak crossly.

“Who I sleep with is none of your business, Garak.”

“Then don’t flaunt it! You _dared_ approach me in a public place, drenched in another Cardassian’s essence! Then you have the audacity to bring up Ana Karenina with a smile – a fucking smile! I’ve seen some callous things in my time, but you- _you_! Not even the basic courtesy of washing yourself first!”

“I wanted to!” Julian fired back, “I just didn’t get a single moment’s peace to do so!”

Garak’s face turned into stone.

“Too tired out, I’d imagine.”

Julian was stunned.

Aside from olfactory unpleasantness, why was Garak making such a fuss over a simple one-night stand? Julian couldn’t understand what the issue was. After all, he’d had relationships and one night stands before and Garak had never shown signs of caring one way or the other. So, what made this instance different?

What was it about sleeping with a Cardassian man that had Garak in an uproar?

The image formed in his brain and he breathed out, barely daring to connect the dots in such a way.

“Garak… Are you… jealous? Is that what this is about?”

For a moment, Garak looked beyond affronted before his mask slipped back on.

“Nothing to be jealous of, Doctor. If you want to be treated like a whore, who am I to stop you?”

Julian’s eyes bulged.

“How dare you!”

He realized he’d gotten into Garak’s personal space in his indignation, only to be pushed back into the wall by a pair of unyielding hands.

“Did your _paramour_ even tell you that he’d marked you? I somehow doubt it. Some Cardassians find it rather amusing to bed aliens and mark them without their knowledge or consent. Conveniently, they leave out the fact that it’s extremely disrespectful to mark anyone besides one’s enjoined or betrothed.”

Julian hadn’t known that. Not that he knew what a mark was exactly, either.

“So, unless there are impending nuptials you had decided not to notify me about…”

“You know there aren’t, don’t be absurd!” Julian tried to shoulder-check Garak, but he might as well have tried to push away a steel wall. It seemed Garak was stronger when he wasn’t under the influence of a malfunctioning implant.

Garak hissed.

“He bit your neck.” The accusation burned in Garak’s blue eyes.

“If you are implying that I was used-“

“Of course you were used!” Garak shouted, enraged.

“He didn’t do anything I hadn’t consented to, Garak!”

“Ah, and the fact you had no idea what you were consenting to doesn’t matter?”

“Cultural differences, Garak. These things happen.” Julian said dismissively.

Garak backed away, as if struck.

“What did you think? That I was kidnapped and drugged?”

Garak’s teeth gnashed.

“Besides, you have no right to be dictating what I’m doing in my personal time. Who I choose to experiment with is nobody’s business!”

Julian thought he’d seen Garak angry before, but he was forced to amend that assessment because Garak was absolutely _seething_ , frame trembling with suppressed violence. Contrary to the tension in his body, Garak’s voice turned into a dangerously low whisper.

“If I had known you preferred to be treated with disrespect, I would have done so much sooner in our acquaintance.”

Despite himself, Julian felt a frisson of desire skittering down his skin. The look in the former spy’s eyes was fury incarnate and Julian felt himself rising to the bait.

“You have no right, Garak! Besides, it’s not my fault that he did what you never dared to do!”

Garak snarled, pushing him into the wall, knocking the wind from him.

“Struck a nerve, have I?” Julian smirked.

Garak was holding him by the shoulders, painfully pinned. Julian had the vague notion that it should hurt, but he was too high on adrenaline to care. The Cardassian looked to be at the end of his tether. Julian decided to push him over the edge.

“Are you angry someone else got to me first? Feeling a bit territorial, are we?”

Garak’s eyes flashed dangerously and his teeth bared in a snarl.

“You have no idea what you are talking about, Doctor.”

His tone was the equivalent of red alert and it made Julian shiver with need.

“If this is just about the scent of another man’s seed-“

Garak’s enraged shout interrupted him.

“That smell only makes the pheromones worse! Did he even ask you before he availed himself?”

Pheromones?

Ledok _had_ asked. At least about…

Julian nodded mutely.

“The _mark_ , Doctor, is a sign of possession. It is formed in the moment just after climax, secreted by the ridges at the base. This is why no self-respecting Cardassian man terminates his pleasure in a casual lover. It happened to Bajoran women during the Occupation and was used against them – to cheapen them. Every passing soldier could tell which Bajoran woman had recently been receiving Cardassian _attention_.”

“It’s not even remotely the same thing, Garak! I’m not enslaved or fighting for my existence, how can you even compare the two?”

Garak’s fingers were digging into his shoulders and he was looking at Julian like he was the most obstinate creature in existence.

“Did he take you from the front? Nipped at your throat? Kissed the spot between your collarbones?”

Ledok hadn’t done any of those things, but Julian was damned if he was going to take any more of Garak’s prying into his affairs.

“So what if he had?” Julian said defiantly and watched something wounded flicker in Garak’s gaze before it was successfully smothered. Such an opportunity to press his advantage might never come again.

“Is that why someone else’s mark is unbearable on me? Because you wanted to mark me yourself?”

Garak swallowed and tried to move away but Julian snaked his arms around Garak’s and put his forearms in a lock, preventing his retreat.

“Did you want to claim me, Garak? Have everyone know who I belong to?”

Garak seemed visibly disgusted by the prospect and wasted no time voicing it.

“Claim you? Like an animal? Like that _filth_ did to you?”

It dawned on Julian that he may have miscalculated. Misconstrued Garak’s motives. Maybe this wasn’t about jealousy or possessiveness at all.

“One night with a stranger… It didn’t mean anything, Garak.”

He let his unspoken meaning shimmer between them, gauzy and frail. Garak averted his gaze, staring down at Julian’s chest, his voice turning strained and soft.

"I was here all along, Doctor. If you had wished to assuage your curiosity, you needn't have looked far."

Julian gasped, rendered mute.

Out of Garak’s mouth, that was as good as stating plainly – “Why didn’t you want me?”

"Garak... I thought... I thought you weren't interested."

Garak’s face snapped up at that, expression half-mad.

"Not interested!"

"Yeah, Garak! Not interested! When you first approached me, I was completely incoherent, falling over myself trying to string two sentences along, fearing you only wanted to seduce me for information! I was desperate to be intriguing enough - to keep your interest!"

Garak showed no outward reaction except unconsciously letting his lips part.

"But then you did nothing - and when I woke up with you hovering near my bed, watching me, I'd thought..." Julian sighed. "But nothing happened. Sure, the adventure with Rugal was nice, but-"

"You sound... disappointed." Garak measured his words carefully, unable to hide his shock.

"I was waiting for you to seduce me, Garak!" Julian cried out in exasperation. "When months went by and you didn't, I had assumed you'd chosen to obtain what you needed from me in some different fashion."

"Are you telling me..." Garak whispered almost menacingly, "That I could have had you as far back as then?"

Julian laughed incredulously, the weight of mixed signals and missed opportunities finally settling in.

"Are you kidding me? You could have had me the same day you approached me at the Replimat!"

Garak stilled under his grasp, unmoving and unbreathing.

"The first month, every time I entered my dark quarters after my shifts, I half-expected to find you there, muttering darkly into my ear as you took me by surprise... Shit."

The thought alone was making him aroused.

Garak tipped forward and Julian was tempted to close his eyes and give in, but then remembered that all great Cardassian romances seemed to be built on arguments. It was confusing to contemplate, because he was fairly certain that Garak had not come here to seduce but rather to confront him like some kind of spurned lover. It was not Cardassian behavior, it was more-

_Human._

The thought stopped him in his tracks.

Is that what Garak had been trying to do? Had he, unbeknownst to Julian, adopted human customs? Chosen to approach Julian gently, with…

Fuck.

With chocolates.

And dates.

And common interests.

And Julian had been trying to debate, to fight him, to-

“What a fucking idiot!” Julian groaned, releasing Garak’s arms. When the Cardassian made to move away, Julian grabbed his tunic and yanked him closer. “Where do you think you’re going?”

To his credit, Garak hid his confusion well.

“I said we would discuss this and we will.” Julian said sternly, holding Garak firmly in place.

Garak’s tone turned icy.

“Unhand me, Doctor.”

“Or what?” Julian said cockily. “You’re going to use your big bad spy powers on me?”

Garak’s eye twitched and Julian gasped in pain as Garak wrenched his arm, pulling him around and pressing him into the wall, his arm uncomfortably held by the wrist.

“Careful what you wish for,” Garak purred into his ear and Julian bucked into him with a moan.“ _Doctor_.”

Julian trembled, unmindful of the fact that his body was betraying him to the perceptive former spy. This was what he had wanted, what he’d almost forgotten he craved. What he’d tried to get last night, even though he’d known it could never approach _this_.

He wondered what else he should say to rile Garak up enough to actually _do_ something when he felt a strong hand crawling up his ribcage, stopping at the half-unfastened underlayer of his uniform and wrenching it open completely. He’d barely managed a groan before the garment was being pulled off his shoulders forcefully and he felt Garak fiddling with it behind his back. He thought he would be stripped of it entirely, but it seemed that the pissed off spy had other plans. Julian tried wriggling his arms and realized they were bound.

The sound he made at that revelation was utterly embarrassing.

“Stay _still_.” Garak hissed against his ear and Julian obeyed, not knowing what was being planned for him but enjoying the anticipation. Perhaps he should fight back. Maybe that was expected at this point? If Cardassians preferred forceful…

Damn it. He liked forceful.

“What- what if I don’t?” He asked.

“If you don’t…” Garak said sensuously, “You’ll _find out_.”

The temptation was real. Julian wanted to find out, but it seemed like he’d dawdled too long, caught up in his daydream. When he came to, Garak was pulling his trousers down with disturbing expediency. Julian wondered if Garak had experience divesting people of their Starfleet uniforms and felt a pang of irritation at that. He had no desire to share Garak – and if his suspicions were correct and he played his cards right, he would never have to.

When his trousers met the floor, he felt Garak shuffling behind him.

“Step out of them.” Garak instructed and Julian moved to obey, realizing that Garak had actually placed one foot onto his trousers, easing his task.

“Were you this pliant for him, I wonder?” The Cardassian muttered against his neck and Julian failed to suppress a shiver. Firm grey fingers traced down his shoulders, leaving a burning trail in their wake. His breath hitched when one hand snaked to his front, crawling down his sternum, brushing across a nipple carelessly and continuing downward at a glacial pace.

It was just a palm sliding down his body, but he felt like he was being signed off to the devil - possessed and branded and consumed.

“We have to do something about these marks on your neck…” Garak said conversationally, making Julian wonder whether he would soon feel that wicked mouth tasting his skin when he felt the loss of heat at his back.

“You won’t move if you know what’s good for you, Doctor.”

Julian was so torn. He wanted to fight him – wanted to see Garak angry and out of control, but at the same time, he wanted to simply stand there and _take it_ , whatever it was.

After a very tense minute, though it could have been less, he felt Garak’s warm form radiating heat into his exposed skin.

There was a subtle, almost subliminal whirr and Julian realized Garak had managed to procure a dermal regenerator. Did he find it in his nightstand? Or did he crack open the medkit he always had waiting near the exit of his quarters? He was not in the least bit surprised that Garak knew the layout of the place.

He only wished the thought was less arousing.

The gentle feeling of pressure alerted him to the fact that Garak was passing it over his skin and being quite thorough with it.

“Can’t take the reminder that he’d had his mouth on me first, can you?”

Julian had no time to enjoy his sharp remark, because he was forced to gasp as Garak sank his teeth into his neck.

It was hard, much harder than Ledok had bit him.

“Did you mewl like this for him?” Garak murmured into his ear, nipping it in passing and Julian cursed under his breath.

“Bite me.” Julian spat out and had his wish granted almost immediately, feeling cold lips stretched into a smirk against his skin.

It was sharp and heady, sending bursts of chills and molten heat down his limbs and spine, rushing though his body like a web or cracks spreading in ice. Waiting seemed an unbearable prospect - he needed Garak’s claiming touch, arching his back and moaning with approval.

“Anyone would mark you, writhing like this.” Garak whispered filthily against the abused skin of his neck and slid a hand into his briefs.

Oh God.

If someone had told him it could be like this, he would have thrown himself at Garak shamelessly, ages ago.

“Fuck, Garak-“ Julian panted, insensate, as his briefs were pulled down his legs none too gently.

“How could I possibly say no when you ask me so nicely?” Garak purred, teasing his bruised skin with the tip of his tongue.

Julian felt like he was dying, wanting nothing better than to grab hold of Garak, wrap his legs around that sturdy waist and be fucked into sweet oblivion. Instead, his hands were bound and his legs were being spread by Garak stepping between them, sliding his foot outwards in a brisk, yet sensual movement. Julian could barely hear anything over the roaring heartbeat crashing in his ears.

He could hear clasps unlatching and the rustle of thick fabric. Almost unconsciously, he slid slightly down the wall, canting his hips. It was as good as begging, at least to a man as perceptive as Garak. Once again, he was counting on it.

Nips down his spine made him tremble, and the hands that caressed his sides were utterly maddening. They were a portent of what was to come and Julian was starved for it.

“Did you know, my dear,” Garak said casually, as if he was discussing the weather, “that a mark can be dissolved? And for some reason, only a man older than the one who originally left it can do it…”

Julian was holding his breath, tingling with anticipation.

“M-most peculiar.” He commented, hating himself for having stammered.

“Now, why don’t I rid you of this stench?” Garak asked, but Julian knew better than to think it was a rhetorical question. Especially when he felt a blissfully warm and slick appendage teasing the rim of his arse. Impatient and half-mad, he bucked against it and heard a strangled groan.

He’d surprised Garak, and felt a rush of accomplishment.

It felt divine, hot and ridged and buried deep inside him. Breathing was so difficult and sweat bloomed all across his skin. Garak was bigger – “Oh, fuck-ah-“ and wider, perceptibly wider than- “Fuck, Garak!” Julian groaned, thrashing against the firm grip on his shoulder and hip, grinding into every thrust.

“Did you beg him like this?” Garak interrogated him, punctuating the question with a harsh, upward movement of his hips.

“Yes!” Julian cried out, “Yes! Please-“

Garak bit his neck from behind and Julian whined in need. He was close and didn’t want it to end this way.

“I am not sure he was-“ Garak grunted with effort, “-able to satisfy you, my dear.”

Julian moaned incoherently, arms struggling against his bonds. He should be able to wriggle out of them or tear them, but his mouth was running off-

“Need-ah- need you, Garak-“

“You’re-“ Another labored groan, “-not in the position to be making demands, _Julian_.”

Julian felt he would burn alive if left to Garak’s tender mercies.

“Ah-ahhm- mark me-“ He pleaded desperately, “Garak!”

Instead of the explosive finish he was expecting, Garak went completely still - despite Julian’s whines of protest.

“Haven’t I explained earlier what marking means?”

Julian remembered.

Only those betrothed or enjoined merited the mark.

He craned his neck as far back as it would go and hissed.

“I know _exactly_ what I said.” Julian assured, voice turning dark and authoritative. “Mark me.”

With barely a thought to spare, he got flipped around, bound hands digging into the wall and pressed uncomfortably against his spine. Garak descended upon him, nipping and kissing his collarbones, and Julian was fighting to remember the significance of that. Garak had wanted to know whether he’d been taken from the front, whether-

He resumed his attempts to free his hands and worked the binding until it loosened enough for him to pull his hands free. Garak looked up at him sharply, but Julian didn’t feel like giving him much of a chance to protest. Impossibly quick, he buried his hand in Garak’s hair and yanked him forward into a bruising kiss.

It was the warmest mouth he’d ever tasted, so hot that he could almost taste spice. Even the hint of kanar on Garak’s nimble tongue seemed to enhance the experience, despite being very low on the list of things Julian would willingly pour into his body.

Grabbing a fistful of black hair, Julian clutched Garak’s shoulder and hoisted himself up off the floor – mounting him. The sheer shock in keen blue eyes was swiftly replaced by an enthralled, almost visceral appreciation.

“It’s supposed to be done face to face, isn’t it?” Julian hypothesized out loud, earning himself an ardent, raspy lick between his clavicles, followed by frenzied nips and kisses along his collarbones and up the column of his neck. One of Garak’s arms encircled his waist and the other disappeared beneath the half-undone tunic, bringing home the realization that Garak hadn’t even had enough patience to remove his clothes before descending upon him like a starved beast. The other hand grabbed his arse and lifted him minutely. Julian abandoned the grip on Garak’s hair and reached down to guide Garak’s slick prick back where it belonged.

Sinking back onto the ridged delight, Julian groaned in pleasure, giving himself over to the way Garak was holding him, helping him up and letting him drop back down in a rhythm that was sure to have him screaming Garak’s name in a hot minute.

“Julian… _Julian_ -“ Garak was chanting his name, more worshipfully than a Vedek praising his Prophets during the evening service.

Garak was his.

Had been his.

The distinction mattered little now, not with the way he was tightening and gripping his prize.

“Not-yet-“ Garak gasped, clearly nearing his own climax, “marking requires... use of first names- _Julian_ -"

His mind was gone, almost all gone and he was trying to slow down, and Garak was still speaking-

“Do you-hnn-remember-“ Garak’s words sputtered out for the next few thrusts, “-when I mentioned the man I betrayed- my-“

Julian had a moment of epiphany, riding on the cresting wave of hormones and knew exactly what Garak had been trying to allude to – the only instance where he’d shared his name with Julian, even if it had been a truth wrapped up in lies.

“ _Elim-_!” He cried out, gripping firm shoulders in desperation and felt the scalding rush of Cardassian release filling him, Garak grunting harshly into his neck with a sound that would have scraped a human throat raw. Garak was still grinding into him and the thought of what was happening made Julian convulse and spurt all over his bare stomach and Garak’s half-undone tunic.

He was shaking, muscles along his spine quivering.

He couldn’t smell the mark, not like a Cardassian could, but he could pick up the distinct scent of sex, and while he couldn’t smell the pheromones themselves, he _would_ remember Garak’s musk.

After all…

He was a marked man now.

“Elim…”

Garak burrowed his nose into Julian’s neck and muttered something nonsensical and garbled.

“Will you please let me take a shower now? And I desperately need a nap.”

Garak hummed noncommittally and nipped his neck in a manner that revealed his lassitude.

“You can come with me?” Julian offered, and gasped at the sensation of Garak’s member retreating.

“Don’t mind if I do…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! Drop me a note if you feel so inclined and see you soon (well, as soon as I write something new, gotta decide which fic idea to explore next!)
> 
> Love you! ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all feedback is appreciated! The next chapter should be up within a few days.


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